


Hotter Than Love

by RynnTynn



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drugs, M/M, Maybe HEA?, Pre-Missing Kings, SmallLostWorld, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RynnTynn/pseuds/RynnTynn
Summary: Fushimi dreams of the past. Of days filled with a light even brighter than the sun. Why he’d taken it for granted then, he didn’t know. But it was what it was and time travel had yet to exist, a least for people like him. Sleep was the only escape to the past, to any illusion of happiness he had left. The same could not be said of Yata, the star of his subconscious plays. But he could fix that, couldn’t he? He was the only one who knew Misaki enough to get under his skin. And under he would crawl, until his black infection ran through Yata’s veins thicker than blood. He would not let him forget.Hate burned hotter than love, right?





	1. Dreaming of You

_“Saru! That was amazing!”_  
     Fushimi clicked his tongue at the smaller boy and tried not to notice how his amber eyes sparked. “It’s just a video game Misaki. No need to get so excited.”  
     “What are you talking about?” red hair filled his vision as Misaki got into his personal space, something he did quite often. “That combo move was the best! Where’d ya learn that?”  
     Pushing him away with a scowl, Fushimi powered down the console and stood. “It was a simple maneuver, even an idiot could have figured it out.”  
     His roommate pouted and avoid his gaze, mumbling, “I couldn’t of.”  
     “Yes well, what does that say about you? Eh Misaki?”  
     Fire lit the redhead’s eyes, darkening his irises to a tantalizing shade of copper. "Shut up stupid Monkey! Not everyone can be as smart as you."  
     He rolled his eyes because it was better than staring at the flush that had bloomed across Misaki's face. A tingle developed in the tips of his fingers so he clenched then into fists. He wanted to touch, to take, to claim. He wanted to burn his essence within the very soul of this boy; to make him his completely. Turning away to climb atop his bunk, he gave his back to his roommate and to the feelings bubbling up inside him  
     When had that started? The want? The need? When had he begun to see Misaki as more than just a friend, his only friend? Probably from the very beginning, he'd just been too naive to notice the complex feelings. The desire to make himself the center of Misaki's pathetic little world was near to impossible to ignore.  
     For every time the little fool looked at him with adoration, he felt like a junkie procuring his high after a drought. Elation rushed through his veins, jump-starting his heart with adrenaline and making him feel like a king. Because he was a mother-fucking king. Here in this dilapidated building, in their threadbare apartment, he ruled. Or, at least he had.  
     Before the Red King. Before Suoh Mikoto. Now, more often than not, Misaki's eyes shone for another.  
     Fushimi opened his laptop and started typing away at new code, trying to take his mind of his thoughts.  
     But it burned. It melted and charred his flesh in a way that hurt worse than a physical wound. A constant, annoying throb that would not subside no matter what he did. And therein lied the true problem, the real reason for Fushimi's aggravation. He wanted- craved Yata's full attention, nothing else.  
     Niki had taught him from a young age to become self-reliant. Only around when it was convenient for him or out of boredom, his father used mental abuse as a way to kill time. Fushimi would lock himself in his room on those days. It was safe there, hidden under his blankets with nothing but this computer.  
     From the day he had been born, he'd only had himself and that was fine. It had been how he'd preferred it. But now...  
     It was all Misaki's fault-  
     "Saru!"  
     Misaki's boisterous voice broke his trance and it was only then that he realized that his keyboard was hot. With a grimace, he pealed his fingers of the melted keys. When had his aura flared up?  
     "What the hell was that!" the redhead spat.  
     "Nothing." tossing the laptop aside, he flopped back against his pillows, pulling the blanket up to cover his head as he went.  
     Misaki yanked it back down. "Bullshit! What's gotten into you lately? Everyone thinks you're being weird. You don't want to hangout, you ignore them. All you want to do is hole-up in here like some kind of damn hermit!"  
     "I'm being weird?" he felt his temper flare and jerked to a sitting position, nearly knocking Misaki down the ladder in the process. "Take a good look at yourself!" he hissed, jabbing the boy's shoulder with one long finger. "You're the one who's changed. I suddenly don't fit in your perfect little world and you want to saddle me with the blame? I don't think so Mi~Sa~Ki." another jab of his finger proceeded each syllable.  
     His hand was slapped away as Yata narrowed his darkening eyes. "You have changed. You treat Homra like its a waste of you time, like it's beneath you. What about our pride? Mikoto-"  
     He laughed, the sound resinating from deep within his gut, clawing its way out of his throat like a feral beast. Misaki leaned away from him a bit, delicate brows drawn into a frown. "Pride? What pride? Mikoto has none. He's nothing more than an average man, a nobody who happened to come across power and now thinks he's owed the world."  
     The redhead looked like he wanted to punch him. Good, let him. Then he'd have an excuse to wrap his hands around that slender neck and squeeze.  
     "Don't you fucking dare talk about Mikoto like that! He saved us you ungrateful bastard! If it weren't for him, we'd-"  
     "Have been just fine!" Fushimi finished for him. "We'd been on our own before meeting him or have you forgotten? He was just a means to an end. A source of power and nothing more!"  
     "Not to me! Mikoto, Totsuka, Anna, they're our family."  
     The hurt in Misaki's eyes made him sick. Fushimi clicked his tongue and laid back down, facing the wall. "I have no need for your self-proclaimed family nor your pride." it was silent for a moment and Fushimi swore he could hear the sound of Misaki's breath hitch. His lip curled in a sinister smile.  
     "Whatever." the boy said quietly. "I'm outta here. Send me a text when you're done being an ass."  
     Fushimi listened to Yata as he retreated from their apartment. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the small space and it was like the final nail driving into his coffin.

**

     Fushimi jolted awake. Momentarily disorientated, he called out. "Misaki?" The sound of his former friend's name felt awkward on his lips from disuse. It was almost as foreign to him now as another language. He reached for his glasses and put them on, sitting up on the bed and looking around the room.  
     His room. At Scepter 4. Where he was alone.  
     He clutched at his heart, nails digging into the scarred flesh over his collarbone as a fleering grin shaped his mouth. It seemed it was time to pay his favorite person a visit.


	2. It's Cold and You're Drugged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yata goes missing, Fushimi spends the day hunting him down. Nothing could have prepared him for what's waiting at the end of his search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning! This chapter may or may not end with a cliffhanger! Sorry guys ^..^ It will be worth it, I promise!

     It was cold. White clouds of carbon dioxide floated before Fushimi's face with every exhale. He hated the cold. It was raining, coming down in a steady, drizzly pace that could make even an amphibian miserable. He hated the rain. So why was he outside again, at the mercy of two earthly elements he detested the most?  
     Misaki.  
     Because of course he was the reason. The redhead had been a source of his ire since elementary school, a thorn is his side that had wheedled his way beneath his skin without his knowledge. The thought caused him to rub at his scar absentmindedly; it was tingling now, as if it sensed Misaki was near. Funny how the thing had a way of doing that, alerting him to the other's presence at just the right time. So he could catch the smaller boy's smile, his laughter, his voice as he joked and cavorted with the other Homra dogs.  
     It was maddening, seeing him, being so close and yet, in those moments, the furthest thing from his former friends mind. But he could change that. He had changed it. Every time he sought Misaki out, he made sure to burn a little more of his essence into him. Simple words were all it took, for Yata Misaki was an idiot who only bothered to search the surface of something for its meaning. Fushimi could say all that he needed, plant little seeds of doubt, sew in a thread or two of hatred, and sprinkle it all with a fine dusting of truth. He could tell Misaki his feelings without speaking them, without revealing his ultimate weakness.  
     Besides, Fushimi had all the time in the world to make Misaki his in his own way.  
     Or so he had thought.  
     Earlier that day, he’d passed by Bar Homra expecting to find his prey there as was the norm but that hadn't been the case. The bar, which had once been a glowing, homey place oozing enough feelings of love and warmth to make him sick, was now dark and empty. It felt cold and as Fushimi had walked by and a shiver of apprehension had traced up his spine. It seemed a hollow place now. Maybe it was because Mikoto was dead. It was like the building itself was mourning the loss of the Red King.  
     After Mikoto had passed, Kusanagi and Anna left to travel the world; probably in a vain attempt to forget their sorrows. The rest of Homra disbanded, leaving only two beings to defend the bar and their memories, the home of their so called _pride_. Kamamoto and Misaki. How utterly selfish, to leave the two of them behind. But whatever, it wasn’t like it was his place to care. No, he only looked out for himself because that was all he had; was all he’d ever have.  
     Kamamoto had been easy enough to track down. The blond had been loitering outside of Misaki’s apartment, furiously texting a message on his cell phone when Fushimi had surprised him. What he’d said was the reason Fushimi was walking the squalid district of Tokyo Metropolis in the middle of the night in the cold rain. His irritation with the situation was increasing by the second and as soon as he found that foul-mouthed, little-  
     A scantily clad woman, drunk on god knew what, giggled as she bumped into him. She flashed a sensual look in his direction and winked. He didn’t bother hiding his sneer. Yep, he was definitely going to make Misaki bleed for this one. Or cry. He wasn’t sure which yet. If all else failed he would just settle for both.  
     Kamamoto hadn't seen nor heard from Homra's Vanguard in days. He hadn't returned any of his comrades calls or texts. As much as Fushimi would like to scoff at the blond and tell him he was overreacting, he knew it would be a counterfactual remark. Misaki would never pull a stunt like this, up and vanishing without a word to anyone. Not unless something were truly wrong.  
     And that, he told himself, was the only reason it was well past midnight and he was still searching the streets for the red-headed little shit instead of lying in his warm bed getting a good nights sleep.  
     This particular part of town was known for its nightclubs. They lined either side of the street like a alcoholic carnival. Neon signs illuminated the area in washes of blues, pinks, and greens. Some sported flashing words like 'cocktails', 'live music', and 'happy hour'. A paradise for the intoxicated and those who wished they were. Or better yet, those wishing to get drunk enough to forget their pain.  
     He would be here, somewhere. Fushimi could feel it.  
     Passing by a club aptly named the Crimson Palace, Fushimi felt a pull toward the place and backtracked to the front the entrance. He didn't bother with the line. Why would he when a simple flash of his Septer 4 badge earned him VIP access? Once past the bouncer, he sauntered toward the bar, making sure to keep his eyes and ears open for any sign of Yata.  
     It was crowded but that was to be expected. The dance floor was a sea of withering bodies all swaying to the current of the thumping music. He didn't let his eyes linger there long. Misaki was too much of a virgin to be out with them, presses against strange women's bodies. The smaller boy would probably get a nose bleed just thinking about it.  
     That thought brought a rare smile to Fushimi's lips, one that instantly dissolved as he drew closer to a pair of men standing at the back corner of the bar. A brown-haired guy with a lip ring was grinning as he talked to his friend.  
     "-slipped him half Thizz. Said he didn't want the Homra punk passing out on 'em before he got 'em to the hotel."  
     Fushimi didn't wait to hear where the rest of the conversation was going. With a low growl, he fisted a hand in the man's black shirt and slammed him against the bar with enough force to rattle the glass setting there. Anger flashed in the brunette eyes a second before he took in Fushimi's uniform and then he paled visibly. He started to speak but Fushimi cut him off.  
     "I'll only ask this once before I start breaking bones. Where. Is. He."  
     "S-shit man!" the guy stammered, quaking hands held up in surrender. "He just left. Out the back!" he tossed his head in the direction he was implying.  
     Fushimi tossed the guy aside, literally, and took off down the narrow hallway towards the glowing red sign that read 'EXIT'. He threw open the door, looking left, then right and—  
     His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Misaki, HIS Misaki, help pressed against the wall by another man long, lean body. But not just any man. No, of course not. Things could never be that simple with them, could it? No, this man had hair the color of shadows, cut wild so that it whipped about his face attractively and blue eyes that just happened to be a shade darker than his own. They flicked to up, meeting his briefly before he returned his attention to Yata, his mouth making its was down the column of the smaller boys throat.  
     Fire and ice burned their way through Fushimi's veins. A hand fisted around the hilt of one of his blades and he thought, _control, control, control_! And he'd almost regained it... almost. But then, his friends kiss swollen lips parted on a silent sigh and he breathed one word.  
     "Saru..."  
     His control had already snapped like a thread stretch too tight before the last syllable formed upon Misaki's tongue.


	3. Call My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't- couldn't kill a man for laying hands on what was his. Right? That was bad. Especially if said possession didn't yet know who his owner was. But if he couldn't kill his doppelgänger, he sure as hell could teach him a lesson. Once the trash was taken care of, he was going to make damn sure Yata Misaki knew who he belonged to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I adjusted the tags a bit because yeah, there's definitely going to be more than mild smut lol. All be warned, there will be Sarumi lovens in the next chapter! Hope everyone enjoys. I really appreciate the comments and kudos guys, thank you.

     Red.

     It raced through veins and laced his vision.

     It coated his hands and engulfed his heart.

     The color red was everywhere he turned.

     His knuckles screamed their protest but Fushimi pushed the pain aside long enough to land another blow to the bastard’s face, a face that looked eerily similar to his own. The man had long since been rendered unconscious but Saruhiko hadn’t been satisfied with that. No, that wasn’t good enough. Fushimi wanted to make him bleed. He wanted blood, wanted broken, wanted pain. He wanted to bring this man within an inch of his life and maybe, just maybe, wanted to send him over that said inch.

     Love, twisted beyond recognition, black and ugly and disfigured, fueled him onward. It ruled his judgment, swallowed his reason. It altered his person entirely, like it always had. Like he always had. It begged him to keep going, to punch and kick and thrash the worthless trash who dared to steal his name from his lover’s lips. And he would. By the end of the night there would be nothing left of the man beneath his fists that couldn’t fit into a trashcan. He’d wear the bloodied badge of a psychopathic murderer with a smile on his face.

     The blade was in his hand and he wasn’t quite sure when he’d reached for it but it was just what he needed. He would hack away at his prey bit by bit, leave only enough behind for the stray dogs to feast upon because they deserved a meal too. He would-

     “Saru-hiko?“

     That voice, his name, spoken in a rough whisper, cut through the haze of bloodlust. Like the blinding light from a lighthouse, it drew Fushimi in; back from the deadly rocks that threatened to sink his sanity and drowned him in the bottomless abyss beneath. The cold steel that he’d been wielding clattered to the pavement and was echoed the dull thud of flesh hitting solid ground when Fushimi released the man he’d nearly killed. Hardly recognizable now, his clone. Face bloodied, swollen, and bruised, he was no longer Fushimi’s shadow.

     A manic grin curled the edges of his lips and he couldn’t help the crackle of laughter that bubbled up his throat. Behind him, Misaki gave a quiet moan at this. Fushimi turned to find the smaller boy slumped down on the ground, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring bar. Head tilted back, lips parted, and face flush, Saruhiko could tell he was suffering pretty strongly from the drugs and alcohol in his system. He clicked his tongue, stepping over the debris and filth that littered the backstreet to crouch down before the red-head.

     “Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Misaki. What an idiot you are.” he chided, brushing a forefinger across Misaki’s bottom lip, catching the drool there. The touch elicited another moan to escape from those shapely lips.

     A hand pushed at his arm weakly. “No- don- don’t touch.” Yata gasped and tried to stand. Tried and failed miserably.

     Fushimi straightened, looking down on the fool with bemusement for a few more seconds as his ex-partner attempted to rise. Too soon though, the sight grew tedious. As the adrenaline leached from his body, Saruhiko began to feel the cold once again endeavor to seep into his bones. Heaving a sigh through his nose, he reached out and captured Yata’s upper arm in a tight grip. The smaller boy gasped, tried to protest the contact but Fushimi had him hauled to his feet and over his shoulder in one fluid move.

     “Try not to struggle too much Misaki,” he teased. “Least you embarrass the both of us.”

     His quarry stilled, huffing and panting against his back. “Saru! Pu-put me- down, stupid monkey!”

     “Is that really what you want Mi~Sa~Ki, for me to leave you here and let the wolves devour you?" feeling drunk on the sensation of Misaki's too-warm body against his own and the revelation the night had brought, Fushimi couldn't help but to tease the skater. He traced the cold fingers of his free hand up Yata's bare leg, delving under his shorts and stopping a few inches above the bend of his knee. He took pleasure in the shiver that racked the smaller boy's body. "I must say, that sure is a bold move for a virgin like you."

     "Ple..." Yata hissed, his body tensing as Fushimi conquered another inch of sun-kissed flesh. "Please! M-my body...feels weird. Stop touching-"

     He was a dick...really, a total ass because the sound of Misaki begging conjured wicked desired within him that he found he just couldn't ignore. Those sweet pleas, paired with the hard erection digging into his shoulder made Fushimi's decision for him. He'd wanted to wait until he'd gotten them both to a hotel but...

     With a growl, Fushimi brought them to a darkened corner of the alley. He didn't bother warning the red-head for that would do nothing more than allow the Vanguard time to think, a action which they both knew was not his forte. It didn't matter anyway, regardless of what Yata said, Saruhiko had seen his true desires with his own eyes. There'd be no denying him now.  
  
     Fushimi lowered Misaki to his feet, making sure to do so slowly so that the smaller boy's body deliberately slid against his own. Yata groaned and his head fell back, cracking roughly against the building at his back. He didn't seem to notice. Fushimi then wedged a knee between his legs, forcing them apart while snaking an arm around Yata's small waist and pulling him forward. This upset the intoxicated boy's balance, forcing him to put his weight on Fushimi's leg.

     Yata cried out and clung to him, his hands fisting in the collar of his white shirt as his cock involuntary ground into Fushimi's thigh. Saru didn't bother hiding the victorious smile. He lowered his head as he sank his other hand into Yata's deceptively soft, auburn hair; free, for once, from the confines of that black beanie.  
  
     "Is this what you're wanting Misaki? Hum?" he taunted, making sure his lips brushed the overly sensitive skin along Misaki's jaw as he spoke. "You're so lewd. How long have you been fantasizing about me?"  
  
     "I haven't-—Ah!"

     Fushimi rocked him forward again, rubbing him against his thigh. He clicked his tongue, slightly disappointed. "Don't lie Misaki. Your actions speak for you." releasing the hold on his hair, Fushimi brought his hand down to the waistband of Yata's shorts.

     He didn't have the luxury of taking his time, of drawing out this moment and bringing Misaki to the brink of insanity with pleasure like he wanted. Someone could walk out of the bar or come down the alley at any moment. He wouldn't risk showing this to anyone else; Misaki, with his heavy lidded, amber eyes gazing up at him, pupils blown with lust. A pink flush staining his cheeks, not with embarrassment but with need and his lips parted, wet from where he'd licked them.  
  
     The Homra clansman looked like he wanted to be fucked.

     Fushimi felt the rage he'd experienced just minutes before begin to rise up within him at the thought of another being seeing Misaki in this state. This was for him and him alone. He would not share this! Not with anyone.

     Determined, Saru breached the barrier of Misaki's pants and gripped the shorter boys cock. It was hard and hot and leaking pre-cum. Fushimi gave an experimental stroke and grinned when Yata cried out again, jerking against his body like he'd just been electrocuted. "I'll ask you again, and this time you had better tell me the truth or I won't let you come. What. Do. You. Want."  
  
     Keeping his strokes long and slow, Fushimi knew he had the skater right on the edge from the low, throaty noises emanating from those pink lips. But as much as he savored those sounds, they weren't what he was after at the moment. He swirled his thumb over the tip, smearing the wetness there over the head of Yata's cock as he once again lowered his head to lay a kiss on the delicate skin that covered the Vanguard's pulse. He sucked on the spot his double had been kissing hard enough to leave a bruise.  
  
     "Say it." He demanded against Yata's flesh. "Call my name. Say it!" He tightened his grip, pumping the skater's length from root to tip with more vigor.

     Misaki whimpered beneath him, thrusting into his hand, head thrashing from side to side before he finally relented with a sob. "Please! Oh god, please let me come Saru!"  
  
     It burst within him, the dam that for years had held his hidden feelings at bay. It was anger and hate and fear. Relief and love and possessiveness all at once. Fushimi crushed his lips to Yata's, claiming and devouring the smaller boy's mouth. He felt Misaki's body seize a second before his orgasm hit and made sure to tighten his hold on him, supporting his weight as Yata moaned his name like a prayer over and over.  
  
     The skater went limp in his arms seconds after, succumbing to his post-orgasmic exhaustion and the drugs still tainting his system. Fushimi held him close, resting his chin in the smaller's hair and took a moment to try and calm his racing heart. He breathed in deep Misaki's scent and exhaled on a weary sigh. It seemed to do the trick and that both endeared and irritated him. Just like in the past, this person could still ground him like nothing else.

     He was going to have to notify Awashima about the mess he'd left in the alley, or call an ambulance for the piece of shit. And then... He looked down at the sleeping burden in his arms. Yata snored quietly and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

     It was going to be a very long walk to the nearest hotel but at least he no longer felt the cold.

 


	4. Check-out's At Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yata wakes up in a strange place with only bits and pieces of the previous night gracing his memory. What exactly happen at that bar and why the hell was Fushimi sharing a room with him!?

_No_  
     It was the first thought that trickled down beneath the tangled labyrinth of Yata’s slowly rousing consciousness. No, nono. He did not want to wake up just yet- because he’d drank way too much and then that guy- UGH just no! Waking was not the best course of action if he wanted retain his sanity. But there was a stupid, persistent itch on the tip of his nose that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he wiggled it, his bladder felt ready to burst, and what the fuck was that irritating pinch in the crook of his arm?

     Defeat was a dish best eaten quickly…or something like that. So, with a guttural hiss directed at the caliginous, cold light drifting through the window on a lazy waltz, Yata began the tedious task of forcing his person upright. Tedious, because every twitch of muscle, every stir of weighted limb seemed to make his head pound and body ache. It felt like he’d been run over by a train, both physically and mentally. Thought the physical bit he could understand, it was the mental part that took Yata by surprise.

     There was a heavy weight residing in his chest. One that, despite the trauma he’d suffered from Totsuka’s and Mikoto’s deaths, wasn’t there when he’d made the decision to go out last night. It pulled a sharp gasp from his lips, as if he’d woken from another nightmare. Those were the worst. Those dreams that ended with his scream lodged in his throat, the feeling of warm blood on his cheek only to realize they were tears instead and he was…alone. But he hadn’t dreamt of anything or if he had, Yata didn’t remember. So why?

     Shaking his head to clear away those toxic musings may not have been the smartest move but the pain it cause was cutting enough to distract him from the feelings assaulting his heart. It helped him focus on more important issues. Like, for instance, figuring out where the hell he was. The unfamiliar room looked like a standard hotel suite, white walls, bland décor, small tv, but what through him off was the IV lodged deep into the bend his arm. Yate followed the transparent tube up to the bag of clear fluid suspended off the top of the headboard with a metal clothes hanger, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Why the fuck was there an IV in his arm? Was this a hotel or had he passed out at the club and been taken to a hospital? It was hard for him to remember what’d happened after that guy had taken him outside. A thick, warm haze had settled over his mind by that point. He remembered feeling hot an-and needy and that guy had looked so much like-

     NOPE.

     Heat infused his cheeks as bits of shattered memory made their ugly selves known, taunting him. Gods, he call that damn monkeys name! To another dude no less! He felt like an idiot.

     A soft noise to his left caused him to glance over and just like that, his already shit morning went straight to hell in a handbasket. “Oh no way.” he breathed in disbelief. No way was his luck that bad. “ _Fuuuuuuck_.” he hissed soundlessly so as not to wake the demon slumbering in the dark leather recliner beside the bed. Leaving. Yep, that was exactly what Yata needed to be doing. He didn’t need to know the how or why he’d ended up in the same room with Fushimi Saruhiko, apparently being doctored by the guy. And if he were being perfectly honest, he probably didn’t want to know. He was an ignorant person naturally, had been all his life, and found that the lack of knowledge was pretty darn blissful. That would be especially true in this instance, he knew.

     Yata removed the IV as gently as he could, yet the needle still pulled at his skin slightly, making him grimace in disgust. Standing was a battle of its own, but a few minutes spent clutching the nightstand had him coming out victorious. It took a full second for Yata to notice that he was naked. Of course the perverted bastard would have undressed him. He shot Fushimi an icy glare that, judging by the sudden frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, he felt even in his sleep. At least he’d left Yata’s clothes out. They were folded in a perfect stack atop the small desk adjacent from the bed, beckoning to him.

     On silent feet, Yata stalked around the bed, snatching his clothing as he went, and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was unintentional, but he held his breath as he shut the door gently and engaged the lock. Once safely inside, he flicked on the lights and took a good hard look at himself in the mirror. His reflection didn’t surprise him, not with the kind of run-through-the-grinder shit he was feeling. Yeah, he looked pretty much like he felt he should. He was all ashy skin, bloodshot eyes, and dark circles. An anxiety he wasn’t used to feeling caused his normally relaxed facial features to seem pinched, tight, as if he’d shatter with just the slightest push. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why the hell was he holding himself up in the bathroom like some- some weak punk? Because that stupid Septer 4, blue dog was in the room with him? Screw that! He was Yatagarasu, vanguard of Homra and he wasn’t going to hide from anyone, especially Fushimi!

     After relieving his bladder Yata began to wrestle with his pants. It took time and a hell of a lot of effort but by some miracle the red-head managed to get his clothes on without much injury. They had been washed, dried, and ironed, much to his irritation. A few splashes of cold water over his face had him feeling a little better, if not slightly less dazed. Before he knew it, he was clenching the cold brass knob of the door, the fingers of his other hand poised over the lock like it were a viper.

_“Oh, just do it you idiot!”_ he scolded himself, trying his best to swallow down the panic that was knocking on the gates of his protective walls, or what little wall there was. He’d found that when one tends to wear their heart on their sleeve, it was kind of hard to build any kind of fortress around it.

     He’d meant to yank the damn thing open, to make a big racket, stomp out of there without saying a word to his former friend, and just leave! But his body had other plans apparently. ‘Yanking’ turned into bathroom doors being opened noiselessly on well-maintained hinges. ‘Stomping’ to only his toes sinking into the plush carpet as he snuck past Fushimi’s chair towards the entrance. Looking up in dismay, Yata snarled at the two locks in place. The deadbolt wouldn’t be a problem, but he was definitely worried about that chain latch making noise when he undid it. Whatever. He would just have to be quick about it.

     The click of the deadbolt seemed deafening in the thick silence of the suite but Yata ignored the ringing in his ears, his racing heart, and sweaty palms as he fiddled with the chain.

     And really? He should have seen it coming. Should have known he was going to get caught because wasn’t this all a little cliché? But he wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, wasn’t ever known to be. So when one pale hand came down on the door with a _crack_ , forcing the inch or two of freedom he’d gained back with a loud **bang** …Yata flinched. He turned slowly in the cage of Fushimi’s arms, his breath hitching in his throat when he found gelid, sapphire blue eyes only a handful of inches from his own.

     “Where do you think you’re going Misaki?” the onyx-haired, blue clansman demanded to know.

     Yata forced himself to stand tall, to not appear as shaken as he felt. By the look of malicious pleasure curling Saruhiko’s lips, he could tell he was failing this task. Miserably. “Fuck off monkey! I’m going home.” He growled. “Now move before I make you.”

     Saru tsked in that way that was unique to only him as he let his left hand slide downward. Yata shivered as his rival’s thin wrist glided over his arm. “Check-out’s not until ten,” the lock clicked back into place and if he’d thought it sounded deafening before, it was explosive now and shook him to the very core of his being. “And you’re not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I maybe have a few things to apologize for so I’m just going to list them:
> 
> 1\. So sorry this post was a week late. I felt really bad but it was a crazy week and there was just no way it was getting done.  
> 2\. I know I said this was going to be the chapter of Saurmi hot’n heavy but…that obviously didn’t happen in this 1000ish word chapter. That will now be next chapter. Probably.  
> 3\. I left you hanging – AGAIN. Sooooo sorry!
> 
> I do hope that I will be forgiven for my transgressions. Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos! It means so much to me! Any suggestions for the next chapter are welcome ;)


	5. Red and Blue Makes Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate. Harsh yet not. Demanding yet tentative. Hot and yet cold.

     The backs of Yata’s knees hit the mattress quicker than he’d expected. Then again, he hadn’t really been expecting any of this. A fight? Yes, he’d guessed that there’d be violence when Fushimi had caught him trying to leave. The red-head had anticipated yelling and ugly name calling. He’d been prepared for punches thrown and daggers drawn. That was who they were now. Yata and Fushimi. Red and Blue. Fire and Ice.

     The days of civil conversation, of late night videogames and shared sodas after school were over. There’d be no more duly conjured dreams under star filled skies. No more holding hands after a nightmare that left its victim shaking. Their days of friendship had long since been lost in the void of betrayal. And Yata had mourned them; the loss of those times, of his best friend. Had mourned and then accepted them.  
  
     It wasn’t until the death of Mikoto and Totsuka that those old wounds had begun to seep and fester with the new. He’d been so alone and hurt, bleeding from the inside out. Gods, he’d given anything just to make it stop for a moment. That’s why he’d gone to the bar. And then that guy, that guy who looked so much like Fushimi and he’d already been drinking—and _fuck_! He just wanted so much and-!  
  
     “Ouch!” sucking in a sharp breath, Yata touched his fingers to his now bleeding lip. “What the hell!”

     Fushimi licked Yata's blood from his own lips before shoving him hard. With nowhere else to go, he fell back into the disheveled bedding. He glared at the raven haired man, who was returning his scowl with equal ferocity.  
  
     “You seemed to be letting your mind wander, Misaki.” he leered down at him, one side of his thin lips stretching up in a half smile. “But I have no intention of allowing you to escape within your thoughts.”  
  
     It was the intensity of those eyes, once so familiar yet foreign to him now, that made him attempt to put distance between them. “Saru?”  
  
     Yata watched in horror as Fushimi shrugged out of his jacket before slowly undoing the buttons on his white shirt with pale, nimble fingers. “We’re not talking now, Misaki. There’s no need. I got all the answers I wanted last night.”  
  
     “I don’t know what you’re talking about, stupid! What answers and why the hell are you stripping?” he snarled like a panicking animal caught in a cage. Yata pushed himself back on his elbows but as soon as Fushimi had discarded his shirt, the taller man pursued him, capturing his ankle in an icy grip, yanking him back, and pinning him beneath him.  
  
     Yata struggled, lashing out with feral kicks and punches that did nothing more but wear his already exhausted body out further. Oh, and of course piss Fushimi off.

     The bastard clicked his tongue disapprovingly when one lucky shot managed to nick his chin. Frowning menacingly, Fushimi pulled a blade from the belt of his trousers. Yata stilled beneath the other man, watching with widening eyes as the tip lowered to his throat.  
  
     “What are you going to do? Fucking kill me? Coward! You should fight me fairly! But whatever—can’t say I’m surprised you’d sink to this level.” the venom in his voice stung his own lips as the words left his mouth. “Nothing’s too low for a traitor, right?” he hissed.  
  
     All went quiet for a breath. Fushimi was dangerously still above him and for a brief second, Yata thought that maybe he’d went too far. It wasn’t exactly the brightest idea to instigate the person who wielded a razor sharp knife to your jugular. But then, he laughed.  
  
     “Heh…” the blade pressed harder and Yata felt the moment the point breached the surface of his skin. “Shut up Misaki.” Fushimi drew the edge down, lightly enough so that it merely scraped his flesh rather than cut it. “I told you there be time for talking later. Right now though-“ he stopped at the collar of Yata’s black tank top. “I’m going to give you what you want.”  
  
     He stared, lost in the seriality of this moment, in the raw emotions flickering within his enemy’s eyes like lightning strikes. He wanted to reach out, felt his right hand twitch with the desire. He wanted to smooth the ‘v’ marring Saruhiko’s perfect face, wanted to calm the storm that he saw behind those eyes. Or maybe twine their fingers together and just _be_ , like he used to do after Fushimi would wake up, panting and wild-eyed from the shadows that haunted his dreams.  
  
     But that wasn’t them anymore…it couldn’t be.  
  
     “How would you know what I want.” he heard himself say in a voice thick with dejection. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to turn his face, avoid Saru’s gaze, but he did. And he did because those wounds were beginning to burn again, chasing off the last of that blissful numbness that had overtaken him last night. Maybe it was said lingering effect that made him feel so vulnerable but suddenly he felt too exposed under Fushimi’s watchfulness.  
  
     As if in answer, Fushimi jerked the blade downward with a precision only gained by years of training.  
  
     Both of Yata’s shirts were sliced asunder. Cool, early morning air assaulted his bare chest mercilessly, causing the red-head to gasp like a fish out of water, both from the cold and from the action itself. “What the-!”  
  
     The devil atop him relinquished himself of his knife with a flick of his wrist. Yata heard the distinct _thunk_ as it embedded itself in the wall but he was too focused on the sinking feeling in his gut. “I’m going to give you what you’re wanting.” Fushimi stated again, capturing Yata’s wrists and pinning them above his head. “I’m going to fuck you…and then we’re going to have a nice long chat.”  
  
     The words Yata planned to use to curse the stupid monkey to hell and back were lost somewhere between his lips and Fushimi’s as the other man claimed his mouth without warning and holy shit! This was nothing like kissing that stranger at the bar. This wasn’t that awkward or sloppy first meeting of lips that didn’t feel quite right. This was desperate. Harsh yet not. Demanding yet tentative. Hot and yet…cold.  
  
     It was perfect.  
  
*^.,.^*^.,.^*^.,.^*

     What time was it? It was still slightly dark outside but he’d long since lost track of hour; if, in fact, he’d had track of it to begin with. Since that first kiss, there’d only been the two of them. Yata and Fushimi. Red and Blue. Fire and ice. He’d really thought he would have put up more of a fight. He should have. Their actions were sure to have consequences.

     Unfortunately, Yata really couldn’t find one fuck left to give at the moment. He was too tired, too sick of holding these feelings back for so long. Now that Fushimi had essentially given him permission to unleash them, Yata feared he’d never get the emotions bottled back up.  
  
     The slender digits within him curled, stroking against his prostate. The motion elicited a moaning gasp from his spit-slick lips and his back arched violently. It was a sensation that was both pleasurable and painful.  
  
     “Where are you Mi-Sa-Ki?” Fushimi’s question came from between his shaking thighs as he gave Yata's cock one last lick with his wicked tongue.  
  
     “He-here!” he gaped as those fingers continued stroking him, stretching him for something bigger. _Shit! Was this really happening?_ What if it was all a dream? Was he going to wake up in the alley behind the bar? Or in his empty apartment? The thought alone made an icy dread spread through his heart. He couldn’t stand waking up alone again. Not after this. Not after-  
  
     “Hey.”  
  
     A gentle hand caressed his jaw, fingers sinking into his hair at the base of his skull. Yata forced his lids to open. What he saw nearly solidified his fears. Never could he say that he’d ever seen Saruhiko look soft or placid. Angry, annoyed, tolerant, excited, scared, and unhinged? Yes, he’d witnessed all of those at one point but never this. The expression that met his eyes now could be described with no other adjective than ‘tender’. It was both gentle and understanding, slightly sad and maybe just a little guilty and it broke his heart. Because surely that meant this was only a dream.  
  
     Yata registered the tears leaking from his eyes only when Saruhiko captured them with a swipe of his thumb. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

     The lump in his throat prevented him from doing anything other than nodding. Immediately, Fushimi began to pull his fingers out of Yata’s body.  
  
     “No!” he croaked, hands gripping the pale forearm tightly. “No. Not there.” He reached up tentatively, feeling like a total girl as he tapped on his chest, right over his heart. “Here.”  
  
     Those blue irises, darkened with his desire, fixated on that spot. Then they shifted up slightly and he ‘tsked’ again, murmuring “idiot” before lowering his head and placing a chaste kiss on Yata’s Homra mark. “I’m not going anywhere after this Misaki. Didn’t I tell you we were going to have a talk?” he worked his lips up to Yata’s ear. “You never listen.”  
  
     And before he could protest the insult, those skilled fingers did pull out of him, leaving Yata feeling bereft. Fushimi soothed him by continuing to suck and lave at Yata’s neck, lips, chest. His other hand left his face to fumble with the drawer of the nightstand and within seconds, Fushimi was lifting his dark head to inspect the objects in his hand.  
  
     Handing one packet to Yata, he said, “Put it on me.”  
  
     Flushing a deep and mortifying shade of red, Yata cringed at the condom held out before him. For most, aka all, of their…foreplay…Yata had been in a hazy state of bliss but this, this was a part of his ‘deflowering’ he’d actively have to participate in. This wasn’t just lying there and taking it. This was saying, without words, that he wanted this to happen just as much as Saru did. And the stupid monkey knew it.  
  
     He sat up and snatched the offending item out of his former friend’s hand, glaring up at him when he smirked. The foil tore with a loud ripping sound or, rather, it was loud to him. With hands that shook slightly, Yata removed the latex from its package and hesitated. He bit his lower lip, finding that the slight sting of it fended off some of his nerves.  
  
     Currently, Fushimi was straddling his hips and Yata let his gaze dance up the taller boy’s long, firm thighs until they finally, blessedly, cursedly, landed on his cock. He swallowed hard. It jutted up from the apex of Fushimi’s thighs proudly, curving up towards his toned, flat stomach.  
  
_“Fuck…fuck! Am I really doing this?”_ he hissed at himself. Did he want it? Yes! More than anything. But this was all just so surreal! And he’d never really entertained the thought long enough to decide whether or not he would prefer to be top or bottom. Not that it mattered now.  
  
     “Masaki.” Saru breathed, sounding almost desperate.  
  
     It gave him the push he needed. Licking his lips, Yata took Saru’s cock in one hand, feeling a slight thrill shoot through him when he heard the other man suck in air through his teeth. With his other hand, he slowly unrolled the condom over Fushimi’s throbbing member until he reached the base. And as if that were the one string holding Fushimi’s control, he snapped.  
  
     With a growl that rumbled up his chest, Saru pushed Yata back down against the pillows and settled himself between his thighs once more. Only this time, alabaster hands forced his legs up, causing that most intimate part of him to become exposed. Fushimi seemed to consume him with his stare alone and Yata felt his cheeks flush.  
  
     “Oy! Just do it already!” he snapped, irritated both from embarrassment and the need to come. He was so fucking hard it hurt and if that bastard didn’t do something about it quickly, he was going to lock himself in the bathroom again and take care of it himself!  
  
     As if reading his thoughts, Fushimi glowered down at him, those sapphire irises burning with passion. “Impatient.” he chided and tore open the second packet with his teeth. He didn’t even give Yata the time to question its contents before squeezing the cold, slick substance over his entrance and coating his dick.  
  
     And them…  
  
     And them… his pushed the head of his cock against Yata’s eager opening.  
  
     It was intense. The cold gel mixed with the burn of Yata’s protesting muscles made him want to clench, to tense and fight against the invading force. But then, Saru’s hands came down on either side of his head, caging him, cradling him in and that ebony head fell forward to rest upon his own as its keeper released a ragged breath. Of their own accord, Yata’s arms circled about his neck and he held on tight as Fushimi slowly inched his way inside him until there was no space left between their bodies.  
  
     They rested a minute, simply breathing each other’s air and it was almost like that _just be_ -ing feeling Yata had so desperately wanted back, but a thousand times better.

     Saru rocked forward.  
  
     Yata gasped.  
  
     Saru smirked.  
  
     It all seemed to blend together after that. Fushimi’s quiet grunts as he plunged into Yata’s body, Yata’s moans and cries. He didn’t even care to try and hold them back anymore. He met each thrust with one of his own, head thrashing and fingers tangling within the sheets until he was begging, literally begging for release.  
  
     Fushimi rose up, gripping Yata’s hip in a bruising grip with on hand while taking Yata’s weeping cock in the other. He pumped in time with his thrusts, driving the red-head mad with pleasure.  
  
     “Where are you?” the Scepter 4’s third-in-command growled again.  
  
     He groaned when Fushimi angled his pelvis up, causing his dick to rub against that sweet spot that sent shivers racing up his spine. “I’m here.”  
  
     “With who?” When he received no answer, he slowed the hand stroking Yata’s cock. The young Vanguard whimpered in displeasure. Damnit! He’d been right there, right at the edge! “Answer me Misaki!” he hiss, sounding corybantic.  
  
     His eyes flew open and he knew exactly what Saruhiko was staring into: Bright molted amber intensified only by the passion that stained his cheeks a brilliant rouge. He pinned Saru with those eyes and answered with a grin of his own when he saw the mans pupils dilate. “I’m with you.”  
  
     And he was, in this moment at least. Together, they would see what this new future brought them.  
  
     Afterwards, as Yata lay entangled within Saruhiko’s slumbering embrace, his head resting upon his chest, he placed a soft kiss to the blackened, mutilated skin of his former Homra mark and watched the sunrise over the horizon. A small smile played at the corner of his lips. Saru was going to be mad that he’d missed this one, he thought.  
  
     The sky was such a beautiful shade of purple. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this I give you the final chapter! I hope it was satisfying! I may write a bonus chapter later on just to touch base with how their relationship progressed but this was definitely intended to be a short. It's been such a fun first experience and I would like to give a special thanks to both TheWiseMansFear and Hibisha for being with this story from start to finish; it means so much! :]
> 
> Extra note: of course, I do not own K Project or any of its affiliated works in any way. All that credit goes to the original creators :)


	6. Does Domesticity Suit Us? Why Yes It Does.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what happens when your clan is ordered to search the bar of your lovers clan for strains? You don't get dinner that night, that's what!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! The bonus chapter ^.^ Sorry it's so short but I just wanted to give a little look into their home life without getting to in depth. I hope everyone enjoys!

There were many ways to be greeted when coming home. Words of welcome, a hug, a kiss. Or, if your domestic partner was a short-tempered, redheaded idiot, a dinner plate to the head.

  
Fushimi had practice. Six months had passed since that early morning they’d shared in the hotel room and he’d be lying through his perfect teeth if he said they’d never fought. They had. Many times and more often than not, those fights ended in mutual bloodshed of some kind.  
  
So, with a slight roll of his eyes, Fushimi jerked his head to the side, managing to dodge the makeshift projectile with ease. It shattered against the unforgiving wall behind his right shoulder, showering the entryway with porcelain remnants. He tsked, turning his narrowed eyes away from the plate and toward the fuming man standing in the dining room.  
  
“That was my favorite.”  
  
“Shut up! You bastard! How could you?”  
  
He could pretend to not know what Yata was talking about, prolong the argument, and sidestep the issue. But that would simply mean they would be fighting well into the night. As much as he loved to draw out their spats, (because nothing was better than working his Misaki up, watching his face flush red with emotion and his limbs shake with anger), he was tired. It’d been a long day and thanks to an extremely annoying Awashima and an equally irritating Capitan, Fushimi found his patients strung thin.  
  
The audible breath he released spoke of his irritation at the Vanguard. “Really? Are we really going to do this Misaki? Didn’t we agree in the beginning that we wouldn’t let our work interfere with this?” he gestured between then with a wave of his hand. “In fact, I believe those were your words exactly.”  
  
Yata seethed. “You signed off on a search warrant for Bar Homra! They fucking trashed the place looking for refuge strains!”  
  
“You weren’t supposed to be there when it happened.” He shrugged while kicking off his boots. “Besides, I did tell them to be careful.”  
  
“I wasn’t there but if you thought I wouldn't find out then you’re dumber than you look, stupid monkey.”  
  
“Kamamoto?” he asked as he casually stalked into the kitchen.  
  
“Does it matter?” Yata’s golden eyes never left his form. Fushimi could practically feel the heat of the smaller man’s stare burning into his flesh.  
  
“Not in the least.” He answered whilst opening the refrigerator, bending slowly to examine the contents. Guess Yata wasn’t going to be making dinner tonight. Quick footsteps sounded behind him and he couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips. It was just too easy.  
  
Sure fingers wrapped themselves around Fushimi’s upper arm and spun him about. “Oi asshole! You not even going to apologize?”  
  
Fushimi jerked free and pinned his lover with an icy glare. “Apologize for doing my job? I think not.”

“But you-!”  
  
“We’ve discussed this Misaki so please don’t go acting as if this wouldn’t happen one day. We each decided that we would continue serving our separate clans. Are you telling me that if Kusanagi gave you orders that interfered with Scepter 4 you would ignore it?”  
  
Watching Yata’s anger wane was like watching a balloon deflate. “I- I don’t-“  
  
“You don’t know?” he countered, invading the red-heads personal space and crowding him against the counter. “Well I do. You’d follow those orders because that’s who you are. The ever loyal pawn who’d serve his king until death. Destroying all who stand in your path with that idiosyncratic flare of yours.” Leaning forward, Fushimi let his lips brush against Yata’s ear and the deceptively soft locks of his hair. “Even me… Eh, Misaki?”

It had all fled him now, that anger that fueled his violence. Fushimi could feel the exact moment that it dissipated from the way the smaller man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Saru…” Yata began and it sounded small compared to his usual ecstatic outburst.  
  
“That is what I admire in you the most.” Fushimi finished and pulled away before Yata’s insecurities could twist his words in a negative fashion. He stared down at him and was met with wide eyes that were warm and welcoming, no longer darkened with the heat of Yata’s ire.  
  
Full lips stuck out in a purse and a light blush stole its way across the bridge of Misaki’s nose. “You admire me?”  
  
“Do not let that go to your head. It’s already oversized.”  
  
“Hey!” Yata screeched and punched Fushimi’s shoulder but it was a half-hearted blow. A grin was curving the corners of the Vanguards mouth, only to disappear as quickly as it had come when he became serious again. “I’m sorry for breaking your favorite plate. I promise to try and keep our work lives out on the streets. I can’t say I won’t get pissed again when something like this happens. I know I’m hotheaded and difficult sometimes and –don’t roll your eyes!” he groused. “Anyway…I will try because I want this to work Saru, more than anything. I want us to work.”  
  
Fushimi grinned slightly because there were words that he’d thought he would never hear and they were coming from the one person he’d desired above all others. It was a haughty feeling. “I do too Misaki. And I will try to do the same. As for the plate, well…” he trailed off and, without warning, bent down and lifted Yata into his arms, forcing the small man to cling on with his legs wrapped about his waist. “You can make up for that right now.”  
  
Yata cursed him all the way down the hall to their bedroom but they were words spoken through a smile and nothing had ever sounded so sweet.

 


End file.
